Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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The changeling, Seoirse, an ugly misshapen inside wrapped up in pretty delicate packaging. Hidden behind neat edges and big baby blue eyes. The spirits of his ancestors running strongly through his veins, tainting them, poisoning them with the same bloodthirsty outlook that had plagued his line before him. Shaped by the stories of the past, influenced by tales of intrigue, backstabbing, and even murder. Behavior normalized by a grandfather who turned a blind eye to bad habits.
His bloody paw steps now cut their path into Brookclan, a trail of deceit marking his entrance into the Monarchy. Guileless appearance opening up doors hidden behind sharp smiles, as one never guards against the precieved servant, ignores the mouse that creeps out during the night. It isn't until the pale horse stands behind them, eyes flashing blue they realize the folly in ignoring the unseeming helpfulness of the changeling.
The snowshoe tom smiles as a fellow Voiny moves past his shoulder. Dipping his head and giving a crooked grin, looking boyish and giving a light laugh. Not at their grumbled greeting of 'good morning Changeling' but at the absurdity of him sitting there. Sitting there within the numbers of the same group that had once held the Tsar and royal family that chased out his grandfather. He sat among them and he gathered information, he sat among them and he listened, he watched; he he was entertained.
A puzzle was being made, the last pieces soon to come together. When the picture was revealed he would watch in delight the reactions it received.
Tasman E'clair was a similar creature in some ways, but not others. She was a magnificent cat, one who looked delicate and small. Her long furs hid a toned body, wrapped around her flesh in a way that made her appear delicate. The she-cat was no such thing, though. Beneath this facade, she was a creature of the culture of the Monarchy, one who had been corrupted and now sought to corrupt, was ready to take the world into her paws. Of course, those around her had underestimated her, as well. After all, what more was she than an orphan? A cruel joke left in the wake of the destruction of an entire lineage, just because they wouldn't bow to the throne. She and her siblings were nothings, even lesser than the viony. After all, what could be worse than a fall from power, a fall from grace? At the same time, the eldest E'Clair refused to consider their story as such. They had been victims, but they had not fallen, and even if they did, they would rise. Tasman would ensure that they would rise.
A critical step in this assent, though, was support of those who had been equally damned by the ruling creatures. The unity of the scorned rising against those who do the scorning, it would be a magnificent, bloody revolution of the masses. Power would return to its rightful heir, stripped from a family who deserved absolutely nothing. The very thought of it made her gaze dance in amusement. Destruction, it seemed, was part of the calico feline's MO.
She flicked away the thoughts as she approached him, head tilted slightly. She trusted that Aylik had been correct in denoting who this cat was. She trusted her brother the way anyone trusted a historian to play a role in battle strategics, which was to say completely. He had once been a member of the royalty, one who was chased away from the ruling lands. He could be useful to her, in the same way that Lakeveil was. She was creating a league of those who could be useful to her.
"Changeling," the calico she-cat greeted, offering him a half-smile. "You look like you're enjoying watching the crowds?"
"What are crowds but a certain kind of circus?" He replied with a crooked grin, eyes twinkling in amusement, "though I suppose that might make you or I the ringmaster?"
Oh he knew of her, not all of her story, not the nitty gritty details buried away in shallow graves. But he had dug past flowery words and talk of what was right to dig to the heart of it. Unearthing the ghost story that told a tale of the E'Clair, or as much as there was that could be told. After all; history is written by the victors, and the E'Clairs had not been the victors in this fairy tale. Though neither had the House of Vasily written their own story.
While Aiden had held the throne, if only briefly, Anastasia had ripped it from him as soon as she could, returning from the dark shadows they had forced the House of Ranvieg to hide within. Leaving his grandfather, brother to Aiden, to flee and start over. Leaving Changeling, who had once been Seoirse, to take on a new personality simply to return to the fold. Forced to skulk his way back within Brookclan under the guise of something he was not; simply to protect himself.
But he loved it, he loved the thrill of hiding who he was. Though to any that remembered the old days and the old royalty the snowshoe toms pelt was a dead giveaway to his lineage. He enjoyed watching the plans unfold, and waited for the time to throw his weight behind a side.
"I suppose you are correct," she meowed to him, a hint of amusement in her voice. The crowds of BrookClan had become even more chaotic as of late; they really were a circus at this point in time. Her ear then twitched whn he spoke his next words. How bold, to make such a claim. she mused to herself, before flicking her tail. "Perhaps it does," she agreed again, "although this is quite a particular group to be ringmaster to. It's almost ironic, that the task has fallen to either you or I."
She let out a laugh, but there was little humor in it. The irony, though, was clear. Both cats who sat near each other had been damned by those in control, yet now they were of the few that weren't floundering with direction. Perhaps, then, the families that had destroyed them had done them a favor; perhaps, they had crafted cats who were self-sufficient. Perhaps, without such crafting, they wouldn't not be the ringleaders. Yet, perhaps this was not quite what Tasman had intended. After all, the tom kept his identity to himself, so Changeling would have had no idea of this potential meaning, just as she should have no idea who he was. Perhaps, then, she meant that it was ironic that a feline who had only just recently joined the group and a feline who had fallen from grace were the two that observed the madness that ensued in the group. That seemed more probable, with the information that Tasman would have had, or at least she would have admitted to having. Aylik worked in secrecy, after all, and only she knew the information that came from her brother's lips.
"I'm quite suprised they've lasted this long without killing each other," she then meowed. "Kerrigan had held them on such a tight leash, after all. Now that she's gone, I'm surprised that this camp even still stands."
"I'm sure someone will die soon. Which will be nice, imagine the increased panic by those who still hold clan traditions at heart." Changeling laughed, tossing his head back to create a beautiful line. Before he dropped it once more and a vicious grin carved itself onto his features. "It's nice really watching the lambs setting themselves up for slaughter by the wolves. Without their shepherd they are proving to be rather useless at functioning on their own." The tom felt vicious satisfaction at watching the madness. It felt like almost like revenge to watch these cats, some who had been around when his family was driven away or killed, fall apart at their seams.
"Someone will have to swoop in and clean up the mess though. And that will be a hassle I wouldn't want to touch with a extra long stick. It's like poking a dead carcass that's been sitting out in the sun to long; they explode."
She flashed him a smile, one that was often considered more innocent than not. Tasman, a dedicate of Tiveronah, was a creature who enjoyed chaos. She appreciated the anarchy, despite wanting to benefit from it in the end. It seemed that the tom had a similar penchant, even if he wasn't particularly interested in rising to the top of the pile.
"I've never understood those with clan traditions. You would think after their petty StarClan turned their back on them that they should realize something wasn't working," she meowed after a moment with a shake of her head. This was true. Although religion was perhaps not her strong suit, she could never understand why the former clan cats wanted to be associated with something so weak. After all, it was the clan cats that had to grovel their way into society after their own destruction. "They are the most amusing in times like this, though. Monarchy-bred felines are used to tension. They are truly not." She let out a chuckle, before following it with a sigh.
When he mused about someone having to be there to pick up the pieces, Tasman's head tilted. It was an accurate assessment; nothing the tom had said thusfar had proved to be otherwise. Yet, she intended to do just what he warned about.
"There are bound to be cats just waiting for the moment to take things into their own paws. I'm quite surprised no one has staged a coup yet."
"I'm sure someone has." Changeling smiled with glee, "I'm sure someone is trying to pull strings like a puppeteer, maybe multiple someones. And I'm sure some art working their marionettes into a beautiful theater and others are simply snapping their strings. To blunt to be able to handle things of such a delicate nature." Sighing with a small shake of his head he gave a one sided shrug. "It's probably for the best they weed themselves out in secret, get rid of the unsuited. We needed a royal not a dictator."
"Can you imagine some ham fisted fool trying to take over the monarchy. What a shame that would be." The snoweshoe toms blue eyes flicked away as he considered such a grim future. If it turned out to be the case he might just have to assassinate the new leader himself. He would not suffer such an indignity of serving under someone unworthy after having just returned. Leonid told stories gilded in mystery and cruel grace; that was what Changeling wanted.
"A shame indeed," she meowed, her tail tip twitching slightly. She had put her brother to the task of trying to figure out if there were groups in particular that aimed to raise to the top. Perhaps she should tell her other brother that it was necessary to squash such insurgencies before they happened, to lay at her feet an easy trajectory to the throne. What fun would that be, though? She was far more interested in the chaos that could be caused if she just waited for the perfect moment.
"A royal and not a dictator," she then repeated, tipping her head. Which of the two had Kerrigan fallen? At the beginning, the E'Clair family had hoped the first category, and they had thrown their royal support behind her. But then, the cat quickly slipped into the latter, murdering those that crossed her before falling victim to the pansying of other groups. What category would Tasman herself fall into? She was unsure. "Do you have your eye on any felines who might fit the former?"
Sly eyes turned towards the E'clair. "You mean cats I might support should they make a bid for the throne?" He hummed, brow raising before his tail flicked and he let his head fall back. Humming in thought as he considered the question. There was of-course Tasman herself who while subtle had put herself in a position where those who knew anything about the royal families could clearly see that she would not be opposed to ending with the crown. Oh she might pretend to be uninterested, might even seem unphased, but she was still herself. It was almost in her nature, her blood, to come across as a potential royal.
Her brothers, well Changeling didn't know either of them, had only seen them in passing. He reasoned they were behind her though rather than against her, Tasman seemed to confident to be a one women show. Besides her he wondered if perhaps any of Evertette's family might make a bid for the position of Tsar. Nadia had stake with her old royal line blood but from what he had heard from Leonid his cousin was not the type to lead.
The other royal families he had observed thus far didn't seem to have a potential suitor for the throne. They seemed to fall short of the mark, not vicious enough, or not clever enough, none possessing a cat that was the perfect mix of the two. "No, no I don't think I have eyes any that I believe will make it to the top of the pile." He finally drawled, though he turned to give her a significant look. "Well except perhaps yourself." A sly grin was awarded to her as Changeling finally glanced away again.
Tasman amused herself with his reaction. Of course, it was a loaded one; she hadn't necessarily made it a secret that she coveted the position. Of course, she hadn't particularly said out and about that she intended to reclaim the throne for her family, at least not publicly. His thought process, though, was correct; she was bred to be a royal, and she had a promise to keep. However, she wasn't interested in whether or not he found her suitable for the position. His opinion of her, although useful in the end, was not of her concern. She was more concerned about the eyes she was sure he had on other cats. After all, he seemed to enjoy watching the circus; had any of the animals in the ring top risen to be the main attraction in his gaze?
He was also correct in that she was a one woman show. Her siblings understood their roles in the greater scheme of things. Aylik was always supposed to be her right hand man, Dinara her secretary, Levi her body guard, Asya the one they all worried about. None of them had the same potential as her. From the beginning, from almost their very conception, it had been clear that Tasman would be the one who carried on the family legacy. This had only become more true in circumstance. Although they were not royal, therefore had no head of house, she had always made the decisions for the litter. Of course, this wasn't to say that she could survive without them. Each of the five had their purpose, and her four siblings were her reasons for it all. Sure, Sasha had told her that she needed to make the world regret sending the E'Clair family to a premature grave, but she had confidence in her father that it was just as much for the survival of the litter as it was a ploy of vengeance.
If she was asked the same question, she would probably come to a similar conclusion. In her mind, her biggest competition would have been Lakeveil, however she had easily made an alliance between the duo. If Tasman got Tsar, Lakeveil would succeed her mother. It wasn't hard to appease the she-cat, at least not yet. If one of the Harlows had intended to take the throne, she figured they would have tried already. That left the others, stragglers who she could destroy in time.
"Little old me?" she meowed, as if she was somehow surprised by this assertion. "Why, I am absolutely flattered, Changeling," she purred, before tilting her head again. "I'm glad we've come to similar assessments, though, apart from that." She offered him an easy smile. "I'm sure at least one feline will try to make a fool out of themselves for the throne, but no one not already on the winner's side strikes me much."
[ who rps who in this family? and their father was Sasha? Not the Sasha from the original monarchy families right? (my lost baby. love him. i should bring him back.) ]
"While I was not here for her reign from what I understand Kerrigan was the type who would have weeded out any that that had potential to stand against her." Changeling spoke up. "That could be why we seem to be coming up short with potential candidates." If Kerrigan hadn't sabotaged those growing into potential to take her place she had been more foolish than he assumed. One could not rule in a way to bring objection and then let rivals live. If one was going to do things in a way that brought outrage, they needed to make sure they kept it to just outrage. Which meant killing those that might lead a revolution.
He chose not to humor her pandering, Tasman was tiring. She seemed to be so entrenched in deception she had become a riddle all of her own making. There was nothing wrong with that, it fact if just made her more suited for the throne. It was hard to move against one that was almost impossible to understand. Changeling would also be a hypocrite if he criticized it, seeing as he had returned to the monarchy under a whole new identity. All those who knew him by his old name long dead. But he wondered if anyone knew the true Tasman, or if she ever spoke plainly to anyone. Madness was often breed in isolation, and Tasman seemed the type to be surrounded by many but understood by none.
Hopefully her siblings would be enough to keep the hounds of delirium at bay. Would serve as her sword and shields, her exilrs and her antidotes. Otherwise Changeling might have to adjust his sails to sail other tides.
[ not sasha from the original families, no. that was just a lack of oversight on my part LOL i forgot there was already a sasha when i arbitrarily gave her father his name when i first came up w her. honeystorm rps aylik, violet rps lev. those are her brothers. asya is rped by brightleaf and dinara by simplylight, and those are her sisters c: ] [ & u should ! would also give me inccentive to change their dads name so it isn't weird ]
When he spoke the words, her face fell, if only for a moment. Kerrigan was the type indeed, was the type to destroy anything she could get her paws on. The fire of hate of the old tsar once again fanned in her chest. Even if she hadn't desired the title of Monarch, she had promised her father the day he died that she would make Kerrigan regret what she did to the E'Clair family. A mass murder, and for what? She blinked after a moment; this was not time for a walk down memory lane. Tasman couldn't afford it, not now. "She was," she responded after a moment, trying to keep her tone as cool as possible. No, this wasn't the time. "She had a penchant of destroying even her family if they stood against her. She executed a boyar, banished another, both her blood, because they stood against her ideas." Would she be the same way? She couldn't see her siblings doing anything so bad that she believed that murder was the option, was evenan option. Despite the striking similarities of the two cats, Tasman had promised herself she would never become quite like that. After all, she did everything she did not for herself but for the E'Clair family. Reclaiming what was theirs.
Perhaps, she did some of the things for Talvi, as well. The honorary sixth planet of the universe, only recently brought back into Tasmin's orbit. Before everything had happened, she had promised her best friend that they would make it, make it to something big in this world. Yet, had her desire to make it, tainted by pain, made her unreadable, as he thought she might be? She didn't feel that she was, knowing that there were felines that knew her, although they were few in number. She had never been alone, had she? Perhaps this was another thing that marked her as different from the previous monarch. She had felines that she would give her life for that resided in BrookClan; she didn't need to search for such indivduals in the greater world. That, Tasman had remarked, had always been one of Kerrigan's greater weaknesses: her willingness to let herself be run over by Glowstar. It was disdainful. She would never let herself become that alone.
She let the moment settle in silence again, before she turned her head. "What brought you to this place of chaos? You had to have some other motivation than wanting to see a group dissolve from the inside, didn't you?" she asked after a moment, changing her focus from his assessments to just him.
The questioned roused memories of constant movement and fairy tales. Of staying up late to hear his mothers grand tales of a place where one's blood, where their family helped determine how far they could get. It brought the harsh reminder of small paws soaking in blood, of luminescent blue eyes glowing in the dark as they stared down at him. Reminded him that this would not be hist first time starting over, nor would it be his second. Perhaps the monsters of his past, the nightmares that plagued the chapters left behind, are what made him into what he was now. There had never been heroes in his life, never a good cat to lead him by example; only villains, cowards, and selfish monarchs.
A mother that stole him away in the middle of the night, for silly reasons of a spoiled princess. A father that stole him back through death; anointing their new life in his bearers blood. A grandfather that menaced his father into handing Seoirse over. He had no idea if Leonid had gone back to kill his father but he suspected not. Leonid while a product of the monarchy had always lacked a lethal edge; despite being the brother to the insane Alexei. He'd spoken of Changeling's cousins with a deep distaste, for their penchant for torture and violence. Often referring to them as uncontrollable children with too much power.
"I had also hoped to run into some familiar faces." He hummed in agreement, agreement that he had been motivated by more than watching the chaos. Word traveled quickly among loners and rouges, but even more so when they thought you might hold interest. A lot of them traded information and Changeling had learned and interesting tidbit some moons ago. Rumors of his cousin Anastasia being spotted with kits. When he had gone to investigate he had found the kits abandoned. Which was a shame, he had never known any true monarchy cats other than his grandfather. Had been hoping to at-least observe Anastasia if not talk to her; but had instead only seen pitiful faces of abandoned kits.
Knowing she was around though, hearing her kits speak of Brookclan, it seemed to him things were moving. And Brookclan would be the place to be to perhaps rekindle old connections or watch the fire start.
